


Preview for Upcomin Future AU Series

by JackTheLongsword



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25726093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackTheLongsword/pseuds/JackTheLongsword
Summary: This is a preview chapter for aomething im working on. In the AU i will be working on its set 90 years after Game of Thrones TV show events but tries to follow with books more. I hope ppl are happy. This is CHAPTER 1, (still unfinished.) I am working off a phone and i am not great with transfering work over. The 1ST person POV should be in italics and the rest as it is.





	Preview for Upcomin Future AU Series

"A SONG OF SWORN BROTHERS"

CHAPTER I  
BOB

The hound had found a place back home at Castle Black. Her loyal master, Bob Snow, had not. Back on the Wall the kennels had not always food to provide but the pup need not care. She simply nip off a chunk from one of the other dogs. The kennelmaster far too fond of her to give a damn. The pup was happy. Her tail swaggering so fast that her butt end shook with glee. A smiling mutt approached her master with front paws hopping up off the crunch of snow. As she landed the crack of ice. The pup need not care about snow. Her master had one of the woman in a wildling village make a fur-lined hooded cloak. The wolf's fur from her first kill that had been used to make the hound's cloak had kept well overtime. The cloak was a good enough coverage from the conditions. Bob didn't feel the same way. Clad in all black. Bob pulled over the hood of his wool traveler's cloak. He had no furs only wool and boiled leathers and chainmail. Yet still a shiver rattled on the bastard boy from under the ensemble. Beyond the Wall had proven colder than words could muster. I shoulda packed more. He cursed hismelf muttering through the whistle of the wind as it passed through howling mountains. For days now the blizzard had not let up. It must've taken the messenger crows a fortnight to make it up here, let alone finding us, not even sure any one of us could make it back that far, out here, on our own.  
When out of the scabbard the sword's silver pommel, which rested under his chin, was just shy of Bob's full height. His sword made for a good prop that he may rest upon being only a head taller. The longsword looked like a greatsword in Bob's two hands. A small boy for five-and-ten, slim but strong, with agility as well as a quickness of instincts being his only true advantages in battle. Bob was still not yet much past five feet tall. Maybe four or so inches but not yet halfway to six foot that much Bob was sure off. The garrison of sworn brothers were harder on him in both mockery as much as with brutality. The runt must be storngest of it's litter or no litter at all. He was still unsire how crows were litters, or how pups pretained to sworn brothers in training, his heart sank at that last bit. His mind trying to steer clear of the courtyard for he yearned to be back home. Bob Snow who was once called Young Bob by most.  
I suppose just Bob now, just Bob Snow, with the old Lord Crow gone. The thought weakened him bringing on the sting of tears in his eyes. The cold bitterness of the harsh wind freezing his tears before they fall from his chin. Bob worked his forearm against his face. Each swipe more jagged than the last. The icey frozen stiff leathers hard against his face. Not with all the furs in the North could one be truely free of the snagging frost. A persistent chill that cut down deep enough to be felt within one's bones. Always.  
Bob stood against the chill of winds whistling past. His mop of thick chin length jet black hair was parted down the middle. The fingers of his leather gloves constantly swiping the hair back behind his ears to keep out of his face. Old Bob, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, known by birth as Robert Crow, was dead at Castle Black. The man had grown to be like a father to him. "You got more in common with me than just a name Snow." he could still hear Old Bob saying. The voice in the back of his skull ringing with Old Bob's distinctive raspy croak. Bob Snow, was a bastard, and his father had been a thief. Bob's father was taken to be amongst the ranks of the sworn brothers. The outlaw thief known as Rotten Ronald had worked only hard enough to get a taste of freedom Beyond the Wall before deserting. Bob joined the Night's Watch to find his father yet somehow the bastard found himself still searching.  
The hound pup was getting bigger with each day. Her hunt growing stronger as well. The game the hound presented only bigger with each kill.  
In the distance a woman's voice rang out a single cry, then it went dead silent once again, causing his pup to growl. Bob stood stock straight as the dying scream, for he knew the sound well, was answered with a whistle. It had a distinct tune, an unsettling one. He swung around sharply with his sword high in the air at the ready.  
Bob held the sword with both hands, hilt above his head, as the northerner stance was all he knew. In the distance he saw a figure on a dark horse. His own in between them. The white figure got down off his horse slowly. Almost dead like. Curse the Father and the Stranger and the Mother! Is that one of 'em Others? They'se a joke I thought! The figure was pale as the snow in dark black the mount it walked away from was strange. What the fuck is that or it? Creatures of the Kinslayer I tell ye! Damned them, curse them, if it be an Other or not! I ain't afriad of no thing at all! He tried despairing to think so with forearms shaking beneath his bastard sword. The dark figure had to be over ten feet tall. The mount looked so familiar yet so foreign, a humungous creature, that had horns on it's face. It's mouth. No, not horns, tusks, that is what Maester Stark called them. Bob suddenly missed home very much. He missed his friends. Out here was nothing but fear, the bitter snow, and death. Somehow he found it in himself that he even missed the men at the Fist. Camp Crow they all called it. Jack Piper the man who was sworn to train, protect, and lookafter Bob while ranging. The man abandoned Bob for dead in battle. In that instant he missed the men at Castle Black the most. Qorgyle, Smaug, Bug, Armistead, Hiccup, the Hunchback and Maester Stark, all men who he had come to know as brothers and tutors. Sworn by vows of the Night's Watch. The hound whimpered with low bowed head, shaking with fear, a loud howling whine carrying the same disdain brought with shrieking steel. The sound was a sharp sting to Bob's small round ears. His hound whom he named Scarlet not long ago was more than frightened. The creature only got taller as it thundered forward s toward Bob. As it got nearer he noticed the beast was looking above at the sky. Bob lowered his sword crouching down low. He looked passed the beast to his mount. Through fog he saw a large rope tied to the other beast. The first one was guiding the other, not riding it. To his dismay he saw wildlings descend on hemp ropes from the beast of a mount. A giant and wildlings. Bob began backward.


End file.
